


Oranna and the Maybe

by Athena_Tiamat



Series: Oranna Stormbreaker [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29693490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athena_Tiamat/pseuds/Athena_Tiamat
Summary: Oranna Stormbreaker needs to find someone to fix her gun. When she's told that the only person who might know how to fix it is a human in Stormwind, she ventures to the human city, only to end up hopelessly lost.
Series: Oranna Stormbreaker [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167098





	Oranna and the Maybe

Gophers were a problem on Oranna’s great-aunt Nettie’s farm. They would create vast underground encampments of twisting tunnels and unexpected dead ends. Tracking the creatures back through the burrows they made was a near futile endeavor, as there was no way to make any rhyme or reason of their tunnels.

The gophers had nothing on the human city of Stormwind.

Oranna resisted the urge to beat her head against the map, knowing it would only tear the paper it was inked upon and leave her in even worse straights. She had come out of the dwarven quarter in the north east, off the tram, and she had felt quite confident strolling along the canal. She had followed the map closely, and she had turned right…and hit a wall where a street was supposed to be.

She’d never been any good with maps, or directions. A Hunter was supposed to know how to find her bearings on the land at any time, but Oranna found that if you could track well enough you could track yourself and find your way back wherever you went. It worked. Most of the time.

Assuming, of course, you weren’t in a city made by whatever was worse than gophers.

She grimaced at the thought. Sir Elohad had mentioned that the somewhat haphazard construction of the city came from its fraught history with the Stone Mason’s Guild. The same guild that had eventually given rise to the Defias Brotherhood and the mysterious leader, this Edwin Van Cleef, and his subordinate Stingers who had threatened the Company.

The reason why the city was a mess was almost immaterial, as far as Oranna was concerned; the result was a city she could not navigate in the best of times. And she had to admit, this was not the best of times.

Sir Elohad had made it clear that the danger to the company was severe. As much as she loved Boomstick, the gun that had seen her through the siege of Ironforge and the twenty years since, she knew it might not be enough. Sometimes, when it had been firing so often, it was sticking ever so slightly on the trigger. A small hesitation, and nothing that would have worried her in her cabin.

But, with the Brotherhood, a small hesitation might be all they needed to get in that one strike that took down one of the Company.

It had sent her into a spiral of anxiety, her mind presenting pictures of her comrades in the Company dead at her feet, all because she’d missed a crucial shot by a few seconds. She had pressed her hands into her eyes so hard she saw starbursts of color behind her lids. It hadn’t been enough to chase the visions away. So she had picked up Boomstick, left Befound napping on the rug with a few choice tidbits in her little puzzle ball, and had gone to see a gnome about a gun.

Going to Tinker Town had been difficult. Every time she passed it on her way to the tram, she kept her eyes to the ground, and clenched her jaw against the rising feelings of the walls closing in on her.

_There’s too many people breathing around her. Nothing is in sync. Callum coughs. Jazia sighs loudly. Gradjet sniffles. It’s constant noise. A cacophony of tiny sounds of life that feels like creeping death. She can’t get out and she can’t leave. There isn’t home anymore. Home is gone._

With a sigh, Oranna had looked at the sign of Springspindles Gadgets. Her throat had felt tight and her skin had crawled, but she had squared her shoulders. If anyone could handle Boomstick, it was a gnome engineer.

“What do ye mean this isn’t your area of expertise?” Oranna had said incredulously. Jemma Quickswitch had shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t know what to tell you. This is an old gun. They don’t even make these anymore, haven’t for probably a hundred years. I could make you a better one easier than trying to fix whatever is going on with this one. Truly, this isn’t worth fixing. I’d just scrap it for parts, honestly.”

Oranna had felt a rush of heat surge to her face.

_Topa staring at her. “You’re serious. You’re going to fight?” Her cousin shaking her head._

_She can feel her hands clenching. “Someone has to.”_

_“Then. If that’s what you’re going to do. Take this. It was my ma’s. I can’t use it, but it’s been in Stormbreaker hands for four generations.”_

_It’s all that’s left of the Stormbreaker’s arsenal._

_One gun, old and lusterless, but it’s hers._

Ducking her head to hide the blush of indignant anger, Oranna had picked up the gun from the table.

“If ye can’t fix it, ye can’t fix it.” Her voice had been harsh despite her best efforts.

“Hold on a moment, if I may,” a voice had piped up. “You should go and see Lina Stover, over in Stormwind. She loves those old antiques. She might be able to help you.” The gnome engineer had smiled, and Oranna had nodded as politely as she could before striding out of the shop. She had been glad for the walk and wait for the tram. Her head had pounded with memories, little rushes of birds diving into her vision and squawking for attention.

The tram ride had settled her somewhat, the vibrations and familiarity a pleasant rumbling hum like Befound’s purr. It was strange, but riding the tram to the human city had become more like a routine recently, when it had not that long ago seemed a grand adventure. For the past several weeks, Oranna had been traveling regularly to the human city and passing through it on her way to Elwynn Forest and Westfall on behalf of Cobalt Company. She had begun to feel confident in her ability to navigate the city.

It would be a simple to find one woman in a well-marked shop, she’d thought as she exited the tram station.

Apparently, it would not be simple. Oranna stared at the wall, trying to will it into becoming a street.

Her map had to be wrong. Either that or she was missing street signs and alleyways that were actually streets, which was entirely possible. The result was the same no matter the reason: she was very lost.

Some Protagonist, her mind whispered, a quick burning swipe of claws that ripped a tear through her. It had been waiting in the dark of her mind, crouching in the shadows. You're not the leading character in this story, the voice said. You're just some broken dwarf girl too old to make a difference. No one would notice if you left. The words sank in with a bite, a prowler finding a weak spot.

She took a breath against the pain of it, and set it aside. She needed to focus. She didn't need to be the main character. She just needed to be sure she was part of the story. Being a Protagonist was secondary to being a good comrade in arms, and her gun needed fixing for that. That meant she needed to find this Lina Stover, in a human city she'd never been to before a month ago.

It was getting dark, and Oranna cursed her map for being made of impossible little lines that obviously didn’t exist.

“Ye couldn’t show a building if it were the size of a mountain and had fifty signs that pointed to it sayin’ ‘mountain.’ And yer creator probably had feet that stank of cheese and damp!” Oranna muttered at the map.

A chuckle nearby startled her. She whirled to face a large human man with skin the color of an elder black bear standing with his hands crossed lightly across his muscular chest, leaning slightly on the stone wall of the nearby building. His black hair was tied back from his face, which was clean shaven. She was at least reasonably sure she’d never met him before.

“That map has a lot to answer for, I see,” he said. His voice was deep and kind, and Oranna couldn’t hear any mischief in it, but that didn’t necessarily mean he had good intentions. He could simply be a good actor. She frowned and looked the human up and down. He didn’t seem like a guard, for all his muscles and heavy armor. In fact, from what she could tell, his mail shirt was a little worn, his boots were on the older side and not well taken care of, and there was a small hole on the back of his left glove. The only thing that looked remotely expensive was his weapon, a sword that poked out horizontally at his waist strapped to his lower back.

“Oh, aye,” she replied. She drew herself up to her admittedly unimpressive height, but every inch counted in making sure this human didn’t think he’d found an easy target. She carefully shifted the map to her left hand, and put her right within reach of her gun. The human man tracked the movement with his dark eyes, and a flicker of a smile crossed his face.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “You seemed lost, and I came to see if I might offer some assistance. But, I didn’t want to interrupt what seemed like an important rebuke of an inanimate object.” Oranna’s eyes narrowed and the human winked in response, which was not the response Oranna was used to getting when she glowered.

“I didnae know anyone was listenin’.” She said the words tersely, and the human man’s expression changed into something more sincere.

“I don’t mean to make fun.” He unfolded his hands and held them up in a classic gesture of surrender. “Please, I truly mean no harm. Where were you trying to go?” His words seemed genuine. Oranna weighed the possible outcomes, and kept an eye on her possible exit. If he rushed her, she would roll to the side, and push the barrel there on the corner into his path. It would buy her time to get Boomstick up and take a shot at his knee. Then she’d pull out her axe if he closed on her before she could get a second shot in.

She grunted and opened the map.

“I’m trying tae get to this place here. S’called ‘The Empty Quiver.’ I’m lookin’ for a Lina Stover.”

The human man didn’t even look at the map. He smiled and nodded. “Sure, ‘The Empty Quiver.’ I know where that is. I’m afraid you’ve taken a few wrong turns. We’re in Old Town. You’ll be wanting the Trade District. That’s west-ish of here.” He moved very slowly, and carefully leaned over without crowding Oranna. He gestured to a point on her map. “We’re right about here.”

Oranna appreciated that he was trying to stay out of her space, and her estimation of the human man rose a fraction. Humans looming over her was quickly becoming tiresome with the Company as much as she liked the humans in it, and her neck did not appreciate it. She frowned at the map and nodded. She supposed it could be possible that was where she was. She had no idea how she’d arrived there making mostly left turns off the tram, but there it was.

“If you’d like, I could escort you to The Empty Quiver. Or, if you’d prefer, I could just try to give you directions, if you’d rather go alone.” He smiled again and Oranna fought a returning smile. He had remarkably white teeth, and when he smiled wide, two dimples popped into existence.

“Well,” she hedged. It was getting darker by the minute, and she wanted to get back to Ironforge before Befound got cranky or bored and started eating her spare leather gloves. Again. “Ye dun mind walkin’ there?” She asked, and the human man grinned widely, both dimples flashing again. His eyes crinkled up, and Oranna noted that he might not be as young as she’d first thought. She was a terrible judge of human age, but she would put him closer to Sir Elohad’s age than others in the Company. Not that she was absolutely sure of Sir Elohad’s age either.

“Taking a walk with a lovely woman with sparkling eyes while the sun sets is no hardship, I assure you,” he said with an unexpectedly courtly bow. Oranna flushed and blinked. Her eyes didn’t sparkle. She was pretty sure, at least. Surely someone would have mentioned before if they did. And they hadn’t. Thus, it was clear, they didn’t sparkle. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to mention that out loud.

“Oh,” she said. “Ah.”

The human man held out a hand gamely. “The name is Wardwick Livingstone. If I may inquire as to the lady’s name?”

“I’m nae tha’, I dun have a, that is, I’m not a _lady,_ ” Oranna said, stumbling over the words. By the Light, she had no idea what was wrong with her. She frowned harder and cleared her throat. “Oranna. Oranna Stormbreaker.” She took the hand that was offered and shook it, sternly, once.

Wardwick started off south, and Oranna followed just a half step behind, muttering under her breath about human strides.

“Now that’s a name,” Wardwick said. “Any relation to Irona Stormbreaker?” Oranna caught herself before she pitched forward, voices ringing in her ears like cicadas screaming in summer.

_“You’re just going to turn your back on everything that makes you a Stormbreaker?”_

_“I’m not turning my back on anything! I’m just. I can’t be what you want me to be.” Her eyes are tight, but the tears have stopped._

_“So, you’re running away.” Her mother picking up one of Oranna’s books with a sneer, tossing it onto the bed where Oranna’s clothes are neatly folded._

_“Great-aunt Garnetta asked me to come to the farm. She needs help.” Her teeth are grinding so hard she can hear them squeaking._

_“Oh, aye, she needs ‘help’ with those chickens. And you need to pretend you can just stop being a Stormbreaker whenever you want.”_

“Ah,” Oranna said, her mind whirling. “She, uh, yes. My mother, actually.” Oranna peered at the human man. “How do ye know of her?”

“You’re Irona’s girl?” He shook his head. “What are the odds? I met her several years back. Oh, it must have been, what now?” He paused to think. “Getting on close to thirty years, I expect. It was in Lordaeron, before, well. Before everything. They were just passing through, following some sort of bounty, but they helped my family with a rather problematic gnoll concern. I was about the size of your mother then, and thought myself her equal with a sword. At eleven years old.” He laughed and shrugged, spreading his arms out. “She put me in my place, and I’ve had nothing but a hearty respect for dwarven warriors since.” 

“Oh, aye,” Oranna said, her eyes on the ground. “I’m not a warrior.” The words didn’t burn in her mouth the way they once had.

“Well, maybe not, but I promise I won’t underestimate you either,” Wardwick said with another wink. Oranna fought another blush off with thoughts of her mother, which made her scowl and look away. He turned west, and began to follow the canal until they came to the bridge.

“Where are we?” Oranna frowned and took out her map again.

“Right about…here,” Wardwick said, pointing vaguely at the map, without touching it or Oranna.

“Tha’s nae possible.” She pointed at the map. “Tha’s a building.”

“No, er, here, if you’ll let me?” He gestured for her to hand him the map. She hesitated, but handed it over. “This right here,” he pointed to what Oranna thought was a building. “This is actually a bridge. That’s where we are.”

“A bridge? But it’s a giant block of stone! It doesn’t look anything like a bridge.” She frowned and muttered about gophers not knowing the different between bridges and buildings and then making maps. Wardwick laughed heartily.

“I don’t know about gophers, but I can tell you that some cartographers do leave much to be desired. I assure you, this is indeed a bridge. And so are the rest that look like this one, see, here and here.”

“Well, that explains at least a few things,” she said bitterly, glaring at the map, which did not have the grace to look even remotely repentant.

“And, now we just turn here,” Wardwick said as he made a left off the bridge.

“But that’s water, on the map,” Oranna protested. “Don’t tell me blue means something else to humans.” Wardwick chuckled.

“I’m afraid that at least for your map maker, this blue isn’t water. Those are buildings.”

“Incredible. Absolutely incredible.”

“I’ll admit, if you’ve been using this and getting around even at all, I’m impressed. Stormwind isn’t the easiest place to navigate, but this can’t have been making it easier.”

“No,” Oranna agreed. “But ye sayin’ so does make me feel a bit better.”

Wardwick came to a stop, and with a smile pointed up. “The Empty Quiver, as promised.”

“Oh.” Oranna looked at her map in Wardwick’s hand, where his finger pointed to where they were, which appeared to be the middle of a blue river. He handed the map back to Oranna.

“I don’t think I’d ha’ gotten here withou’ yer help,” she admitted. “Thank ye.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

“It was a pleasure. If you find yourself in Stormwind again, you can call on me at ‘The Gilded Rose.’”

Where had she heard a name like that before? A book cover came to mind, with a special house known as “The Blooming Rose,” where people could find company for a price. Humans named those places with floral pseudonyms she’d realized.

“Oh! I didn’t realize ye were a, that is, I dun know what humans call it, but one of those who, ah, sells their, ah, services for people to, well, I mean, I’m sure ye’re quite good a’ it, but I dun need, that is, I’m fine without that kind of company.” Despite the fluster of explaining herself, Oranna felt her inner fur settling. That explained his behavior, the flirting and the compliments. He had been advertising his potential as a courtesan. The world made sense once more.

Or it did for a least a few seconds before Wardwick burst into loud laughter, his head thrown back. It took him several seconds to stop, in which Oranna seriously considered just leaving him and entering the shop.

“’The…The Gilded Rose’ is an inn,” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “Just an inn. I do sell my services from time to time, but they mostly involve hacking things into pieces, and occasionally standing stoically with a shield while things hit me. But it's good to know someone believes I'd be good at other things. Always good to have a back up career.” His dimples were on full display.

“Oh.”

Oranna had once spent a day in the freshly heated hot springs in Ironforge after a recent magma burst. It had been so hot that when she’d come out she had been steaming for twenty minutes in the open air. And yet, she was fairly certain her face was burning so hot now that it put that to shame. She was shocked there weren’t curls of steam rising from her, and that her hair wasn’t on fire. By the Light, she wished her hair was on fire. Then she could run away screaming. That would have been better.

“Please, truly, if you find the time, do call on me there. I don’t think I’ve laughed this much in years,” Wardwick said. “I would have enjoyed a visit just to hear how Irona is doing these days, but I’ll admit, I’d probably enjoy hearing you talk about pumpkins.”

“They make pumpkin butter here,” Oranna blurted out, addressing Wardwick’s shoes.

She didn’t know why she’d said that. Well, it was true. She’d been surprised when the human priest Niris had told her that human’s made pumpkin butter, but it had just slipped out, without any input from her mind. Her mouth was a rabbit scampering through the grass while her brain stood by like a bear just out of hibernation, still shocked from mortification of assuming the human man's profession. That was not going to end well.

“Goodbye,” Oranna said. She didn’t wait for the human man to say anything in return. Instead, she left the human on the step, and walked into the shop, although an observant witness might have called it a run.

“Welcome,” a light tenor voiced said. Oranna looked up from the ground and spotted a human woman behind a counter looking at her quizzically. “May I help you find something today?” And thank the Light, the girl didn't wink at her. Oranna was not ready for more winking.

“I’m lookin’ for a lass by the name o’ Lina Stover?”

“That’s me!” The girl said brightly. Oranna sagged with relief. It was almost over.

“I’ve been trying to find someone who might know what tae do about a trigger that’s been sticking.” Oranna pulled Boomstick out of her holster and laid it across the table.

“Oh, by the Light! Don’t tell me this is a genuine Bronzebeard Blunderbuss?” Lina touched the gun with something approaching reverence. “I didn’t think there were any that still existed! Does it work?”

“O’ course she works,” Oranna said with a small frown. “She’s just got a little bit of sticking with the trigger. Nothin’ I’d worry about usually, but I want her in her best shape.”

“May I?” Lina asked, her eyes on the gun. Oranna nodded and the human girl picked up the gun as though it where a fragile newborn. Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

See, Oranna thought. That’s what sparkling eyes look like. Oranna’s eyes didn’t do that. That human man was out of his gourd. Had to be.

Oranna watched as the human girl examined Boomstick carefully, keeping it pointed to the ground not pointing at either of their feet as she moved it. She unloaded the gun, and checked twice to ensure that no bullets were in the chamber before she began pulling the trigger experimentally, her face a study of youthful concentration.

“I think I see what you’re talking about. There is a slight hesitation on some of the squeezes. I would need to take this piece apart here, and here,” she gestured to several pieces of the gun. “And then clean it thoroughly, and see if there’s something going on in the mechanism. I might even need to replace a part.” She bit her lower lip. “Would that be okay?”

Oranna chuckled. “Lass, she’s been pulled apart and put back together more times than a spider’s woven a web. I think she’s only got about maybe a third of her original parts. She’s essentially the same gun as she always was, but if you were hopin’ she was a mint original, I’m afraid I’ve got tae let ye down.”

Lina looked relieved and smiled. “It’s still got all the parts, and the frame is still a Bronzebeard Blunderbuss. Working on it will be a pleasure. They just don’t make them like they used to.” Oranna found herself beaming in response.

“I’m glad to see someone appreciatin’ her. She’s a good lass, and she’s never let me down before.”

“I’ll get started right away. Are you okay waiting for it? Or would you like to come back in the morning?”

“I can wait, if ye’re sure ye can do it now, lass. I’d understand if ye needed more time. It’s gettin’ late, after all.”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly sleep right now even if I wanted to. I’d be too excited.” Lina grinned and bounced on her heels, one hand gently on Boomstick.

“Then I’ll wait.”

“Today is amazing,” Lina said. “I've always wanted to work on a Bronzebeard Blunderbuss, but they're so rare...I guess some days are just filled with little bits of dreams, aren’t they?”

Oranna glanced out the window. The human man Wardwick was gone, but she nodded. She was fairly certain no human had ever found her interesting before. Men and women in general had never found Oranna particularly appealing, in fact. The thought of someone who wanted to spend time in her company not because she could hit a gnoll in the eye at 90 paces, or because her best friend was a 100lbs snow leopard, was indeed something out of a dream.

A dream where she would suddenly look down and find herself not wearing pants and that she’d forgotten her math test, but it was a better dream than the ones that had been haunting her for twenty years at least.

She smiled at the human girl, but Lina was already walking away, murmuring to the gun. Oranna understood. Boomstick was an excellent listener.

Oranna sat down in a chair and opened her map, squinting in the candle and torchlight at the small scrawled words. There it was. “The Gilded Rose,” right along the blue not-river, not that far from The Empty Quiver. Still. It was a big city. Chances were that she wouldn’t see him again, unless she sought him out, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to do that. Especially since she’d have to mention that the only news of Irona Stormbreaker would involve talking about how her bones laid in the earth, returning to the stone.

And yet. There was someone else walking around who remembered the Stormbreakers. He’d wandered into her life like. Well. Like some sort of leading man, really. It was, in fact, less like a dream, Oranna mused, and more like something out of a story.

A story where Oranna was the Protagonist, the one that things happened to. Oranna smiled, took out a pencil from her pack, and wrote a small note next to The Gilded Rose.

_Maybe._


End file.
